


(sit awhile) with me

by fandomlver



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, I don't want to spoil too much, but there is inadvertant drug addiction, cuddling boys, so be careful of that, various kinds of H/C
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme prompt:</p><p>When he’s drunk/drugged/overtired/whatever, Aramis becomes extremely affectionate and huggy. Snuggling ensues. Bonus point if he decides to cling to Athos, much to Porthos’ amusement – who will sigh, and eyeroll, and still let him (and secretly like it thought never admit it, lol).</p><p>For the “Five times Aramis cuddled to Athos (or Porthos, or both)", I will love you forever</p>
            </blockquote>





	(sit awhile) with me

Porthos shouldn’t laugh, really. He’s very aware that it might be him, next time, instead of Athos, and Athos will _probably_ not laugh at him. Out loud. Besides, this neatly puts the responsibility for setting up camp on Porthos’ shoulders.

He finds a fallen log and rolls it over behind Athos, draping a cloak over it to soften it a little. Athos murmurs thanks, shifting a couple of times as he settles against it. Aramis snuffles a protest without moving.

Porthos pretends not to notice that Athos’ hand is curled in Aramis’ hair.

It’s probably his own fault anyway. He knew Aramis had come straight from a patrol; he should have insisted he stay at the garrison to rest. This mission didn’t really need three of them. But Aramis got funny, sometimes, about letting them go on missions without him, and it hadn’t been worth trying to argue him out of it. Porthos hadn’t quite figured out the pattern of the difficult missions, yet, but he knew there was one. Sometime, he’d understand.

So Aramis had come along, this time, and talked jovially, for a while. Then he’d started talking more frantically, and then he’d started slurring, and at that point Athos and Porthos started looking for a campsite. They’ve done this before, more than once.

They get Aramis off his horse, but he promptly all-but collapses into Athos’ arms. “Hello,” he says, smiling.

“You should have stayed at the garrison,” Athos says firmly.

“And deprive you of my company?” Aramis wriggles a little, draping an arm over Athos’ shoulders. “I would never be so selfish.”

“You’re so generous,” Athos agrees dryly, practically carrying him to the centre of the clearing, where the grass is thick and soft. Aramis curls up as soon as he touches the ground, almost climbing into Athos’ lap. There’s a brief tussle that ends with Aramis firmly on the ground but resting his head on Athos’ thigh.

Which leaves Porthos to set up the camp. He doesn’t really grudge it, though. Next time, he knows, it’s likely he’ll be the pillow and Athos will do the work.

They’ve done this enough times before, after all.

***

Porthos is stalking back and forth by the door. Ostensibly, he’s making sure no one attempts to enter. In actuality, he’s giving Athos as much space as he can without leaving. It would probably be better, but he can’t bear to be out of the room right now.

Aramis is shaking in Athos’ arms, clinging desperately to his sleeves, apparently trying to climb into the other man’s skin. Athos is talking quietly, allowing the touch even though Porthos knows he hates to be so close to others, rubbing whatever parts of Aramis he can reach.

Porthos hadn’t thought he could think more of Athos than he already did, but seeing him put aside his own issues to soothe their brother has him mentally promising any help Athos ever needs with anything.

It had scared ten years off his life, seeing Aramis totter into the yard. Athos had been closest, catching him as he swooned. The faint had lasted only a moment, but Aramis’ normal touch-hunger had been increased by whatever he’d been drugged with and he’d refused to let go of Athos when he regained consciousness. Athos hadn’t hesitated, carrying him up to his room, and when Aramis still refused to let go he sat down beside him and held on.

Aramis had been gone for a week, trying to infiltrate a group the Cardinal’s spies indicated were trying to assassinate the Royal family. He’d been out of contact, but that had been the plan. Porthos and Athos had assured each other that there was no need to worry, that he’d saunter back through the gates any time with the information they needed, that he was doubtless charming the whole group into changing their minds…

And neither of them had believed a word.

Athos’ low murmur cuts off and he leans down to listen to Aramis. Porthos can’t hear a word from where he’s standing, but Athos’ jaw tightens when he looks back up. “Go to Treville,” he says quietly. “Aramis has been given poppy milk, in good quantities. We will need time, and peace, and the yard cleared so that you and I can take him out of here.”

“Where to?”

“My rooms are the largest, and I’m currently without housemates. I understand that the process can be quite loud.”

“You’ve not done this before?”

He shakes his head briefly. “You?”

“Seen it, but never up close.” He and Flea had always stayed away from the people who took poppy milk; he didn’t judge them, but he wasn’t getting mixed up in it. “You’re right, it can get difficult. Treville might know a discrete doctor, could give us something to make it easier.”

“See what he says,” Athos agrees. “We need to move quickly, though. He says the pains have already begun.”

Porthos nods, slipping out of the room. The last thing he sees, when he turns to close the door, is Aramis curled in Athos’ lap and Athos’ head bent protectively over him.

***

“Porthos!”

Porthos is very tempted to turn around and walk away, but Aramis is already calling him again - “ _Poooor_ thos, _Poooooor_ thos, _Pooooooooooor_ thos -” and he crosses the room in self preservation. If he doesn’t make Aramis stop, Athos will kill him.

Aramis is sitting in Athos’ lap, legs kicked sidewards and shoulder comfortably nestled under Athos’ chin. Athos himself is sitting very, very still, hands loose at his sides.

“Have some fun without us?” Porthos asks, moving to sit opposite them.

Aramis catches his wrist, tugging until he sits down beside them. “Athos is warm,” he says solemnly.

“I’d say he’s getting colder on you, mate.”

Athos glares at him.

“What’s he been drinking?”

“Who knows?”

“For how long?”

“Long enough that my legs are asleep.”

Aramis wriggles and Athos grits his teeth. Porthos doesn’t laugh. At least this is celebratory drunk rather than upset drunk; they wouldn’t have got within ten feet of him if he’d been upset.

“Aramis, you’re hurting Athos,” Porthos says. Aramis immediately looks distressed, and Porthos hurries to add, “It’s fine. Look, c’mere.” He tugs gently at Aramis until he slides backwards off Athos’ lap into the space between them, back firmly tucked against Porthos’ side and legs still draped over Athos. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

“Cold,” Aramis protests, but he settles against Porthos happily enough.

Athos meets his eyes over Aramis’ head and mouths ‘thank you’. Porthos shrugs. He’s had a lapful of Aramis enough times to know how it feels.

***

Aramis isn’t shivering. Porthos knows enough to know that’s a very bad sign. He concentrates on building up the fire as quickly as he can, watching from the corner of his eye as Athos gets Aramis undressed and wrapped in a blanket. “He’s like ice,” he mutters.

“Falling in a river in winter’ll do that to you,” Porthos agrees. Aramis still seems dazed, watching them without seeming to understand what’s happening, and it makes his heart clench. “D’you want me to…”

“No. Keep going, we need that fire.” And Porthos is better at that then Athos is, even now. Athos sheds his overcoat and tunic quickly, loosening Aramis’ blanket so he can slide in. Aramis makes a soft noise, gripping him awkwardly, pressing against him. Porthos can see Athos hold down a shudder at the feeling; it must be like holding an armload of snow.

He gets the fire going finally, lays out some blankets to warm and switches them for the ones Aramis and Athos are using once they’re warmed through. Aramis is shivering now, violently, eyes squeezed shut and pressing against Athos as much as he can. Porthos wraps the blankets around them and touches Aramis’ forehead; he presses into the touch and whines, high in his throat, when Porthos lets go.

“Something to eat,” Porthos says, to him and Athos both. “And then I’ll join you. Ok?” Risky, but it’s highly unlikely bandits will be out in this kind of weather and they need to get Aramis warmed up before he catches something.

Aramis attempts a nod, but he’s shaking too hard. Athos nods, eyes dark, hands moving ceaselessly over Aramis’ back and arms to keep his circulation going.

Porthos makes up a broth from their supplies. It doesn’t taste of much, but it’s warm and they’ll be able to get Aramis to swallow it. Hopefully he’ll be able for some real food in a while.

Aramis is awake, more or less, clinging to Athos, shaking so hard Porthos aches in sympathy. He lets them feed him, opening his mouth like a bird. They manage it without spilling too much. Porthos finds a wine skin, mostly empty, and makes him drink that as well. Aramis chokes on the first swallow, but he manages better after that.

Porthos clears up, makes sure the fire will burn for a few hours, and sheds his overcoat and tunic before sliding in under the blankets on Aramis’ other side. Aramis is still cold, and Athos isn’t much better by now, but he’s nothing like as cold as he was. He makes a pleased noise as Porthos presses against him, one arm wrapping around Athos’ back and the other on the ground to keep them steady. It’s cramped and awkward and he’s already uncomfortably warm, but Aramis is so clearly relaxing he can’t begrudge it.

Aramis makes the happy noise again, snuggling in. Porthos meets Athos’ eyes and grins broadly, settling in to snatch some sleep.

***

They don’t always keep watch in inns. It’s not usually necessary. But there were murmurs in the taproom, stares in the street, and all of them felt uneasy. So they’ve all three crammed into one bedroom - luckily, there are two beds - and Porthos is currently perched on the windowsill, watching and listening for suspicious movement inside or out.

There’s no warning. Sometimes there is; they’ve learned to watch for it, see the signs. But sometimes not, and this is one of those times.

Aramis falls out of bed.

Athos is there before Porthos has stood; he’s no idea how the other man does it, he was deeply asleep only a moment ago. But now he’s on his knees beside Aramis, talking quietly, searching for injuries. Porthos turns up the lamp and finds a waterskin, ready when Athos reaches for it without looking. They’ve danced this dance before. Aramis’ nightmares are few and growing fewer, but they know how to deal with them still.

Athos can’t quite get Aramis to his feet, but he shuffles him onto the bed. Porthos grabs the blanket from Athos’ bed - he won’t be using it, and he won’t be taking over the watch - and waits until they’re settled, Aramis wrapped in Athos’ arms, to drape it over them. Athos nods thanks, fingers idly running through Aramis’ hair.

Porthos doesn’t point it out. He just retreats to the windowsill to watch over them.


End file.
